His Gift
by HeartsofInk
Summary: Ever wondered what goes on in Cadvan's mind? The Gift/The Naming from Cadvan's POV. A work in progress.


Cadvan stumbled, barely keeping himself upright as his weary feet caught on tufts of grass and sharp rocks jutting up from the barren landscape. It took conscious effort to lift his feet with each step and again he looked ahead anxiously to the small walled cluster of buildings nestled against a small outcrop of the mountain. He could make out several rows of poor quality shacks, a few more solid buildings and what looked like cattle sheds. He hadn't heard of any settlements in this forsaken mountain range and wondered what evil it served. Whatever the danger, he would have to rest here, if only for a short while.

The contemplation of shelter ceased as the weight on Cadvan's mind pulsed with a new strength, causing him to flinch and a thin sweat to break out on his greying face. The will of the landrost, that twisted elemental power, was like a cruel whip. It drove Cadvan on with his need to outrun it but even as he tried to gain ground, it sucked his energy and slowed his feet. Only one thought kept him on his feet and that was that he had escaped the Landrost's fastness. No hunger, pain or exhaustion could kill his relief at escaping that torment.

It took more than an hour to cover the short distance to the settlement, pausing only to draw a glimmerspell over himself when he came within view of the people milling about in the yard. As he approached, he scanned to buildings to try and perceive what people would live this far into the mountains. It looked to him like any small keep, people bustling about with piles of vegetables, men herding in the beasts, women working in the fields, their skirts tucked above their knees as the planted and weeded. It seemed a warm domestic scene but it felt wrong somehow to Cadvan. He tried to pinpoint this ill feeling and realised that there was an air of oppression over the place. No children played between the ramshackle huts and as he looked closer he could see that the women working on the closest field were wearing little more than rags. This was no happy community. The high walls towering above it seemed not only a defence against the wild mountain creatures but seemed to create an impenetrable fortress. And the guards on the high walls faced inwards.

Timing his ascent perfectly, Cadvan pulled himself over the outer wall. He was shaking from the strength it took but he missed the patrolling guard and let himself fall to the ground on the other side. Inside the walls, his sense of oppression grew. He looked around, trying to find somewhere that he could rest unseen, perhaps even find some food, for he was beginning to feel faint with hunger. As he settled on the milking sheds as the most likely place to find somewhere warm to sleep and took a step towards it, he heard a thin scream from behind him and his blood ran cold.

Spinning on the spot, he saw the source of the cry. A woman dressed in rags was cowering on the floor, the milk that she had spilt soaking into the dust at her feet along with drops of blood from the fresh cut on her face. A man in guard's uniform stood over her, shouting and spitting in his fury, his shoes soaked in the milk. Why was no one coming to her aid? A group of women huddled in a doorway nearby but turned away when the woman looked to them with pleading eyes. Cadvan desperately wanted to help her but even as he contemplated it, three more guards walked over. One of them kicked the sobbing woman and she flinched, curling into herself as if she tried to make herself unseen.

It was then that Cadvan realised, this was not a fight between equals. This was a man putting down a lesser being for disobedience, like you would a dog. Rage bubbled up inside him as he watched and instinctively his hand went to the hilt of his sword. No, he cautioned himself. He could not fight four armed men in hand to hand combat in his state. He could barely manage one. What good would it be to this woman to throw his life away for no gain? He grimaced, feeling useless, and turned towards the cow sheds. What right had these people to keep men and women in such conditions? He had thought that slavery had been driven out by the growth of the light, but then this place was far from any whisper of the light. Perhaps when he was well he could return, these people deserved more than his pity.

Feeling weary of soul and body, he eased shut the wooden door and leant against the wall, inhaling the warm comforting scent of cattle and letting exhaustion wash over him. He dropped his pack and was just about to sink into the straw when footsteps approached the door. Cursing the timing, he checked his glimmerspell and backed into a corner, hoping that whoever came in left him to his rest quickly.

When the door swung open, a young woman walked in. She carried several heavy buckets and wore the grey rags of a slave. Her shoulders slumped with exhaustion as she led a cow into the centre of the shed and sat to milk it. Cadvan felt himself drawn further into the room to get a better look although he knew not why. She was slender to the point of being thin and had a natural grace that belied her rags and filth. He watched as she laid her forehead against the flank of the cow, her thick dark hair falling to cover her face. There was something about her that fascinated him even though rationally he knew that she was no different to any of the other slaves there. It was almost as if she glowed with the same light that emanated from his own centre, a soft luminescence that only certain eyes could see. He caught his breath in a loud gasp, causing the startled cow to rear and almost kick over the milk bucket.

A bard! Here! He was sure he must be wrong, the odds against it were so high, but there was no mistaking that glow. She caught the bucket and moved it away from the cow and looked up to see what had disturbed it. As if confirming his thoughts, she looked up and met his eyes, her own widening in shock and she saw him standing unguarded where he had wandered into the centre of the barn.

She reached for a light, giving him a moment to collect his thoughts but when the flame flickered to life, he was struck by the depth of the cool blue eyes looking straight into his.

'Who are you?' The girl challenged, and Cadvan felt a chill wash over him. Had his charm failed? No eyes should be able to see him here. He checked his shrouding once again and was shocked to find it whole. She was seeing _through _his charm.

'Who are you?' he asked again, a quaver reaching her voice, giving away her fear. 'Avaunt, black spirit!' she cried and these words snapped Cadvan from his reverie.

'Nay,' he said casting around for what to say, his mind blank with the shock of it. 'Nay, I am no black spirit. No wer in a man's skin. No. Forgive me.' He slumped, his fear returning to bone deep exhaustion. 'I am tired, and I am wounded. I am not quite – myself.'

He tried to smile, to convince the girl that he meant her no harm, but even that small act cost energy which he could ill afford to use. He needed her to keep him hidden, the last thing he needed was for her to scream of fetch the guards. And he needed to know who she was, this creature of the light.

'And who are you, young witch maiden? It takes sharp eyes to see the likes of me, although perhaps my art fails me. Name yourself.'

'Who are you, to ask me?' the girl countered immediately. Cadvan was impressed at how boldly she posed this question, no hint of her previous fear remaining. He was torn between secrecy and honesty and a dire need to sit down but there was something about this girl, no trace of darkness in her innocence that made him say 'I am Cadvan, of the School of Lirigon' without deception. 'Now, mistress, how do they name you?' he asked, eager to know more for if she was a bard then he must know where from.

'Maerad' she whispered, and he searched his memory for the name, coming up blank.

'Maerad of the mountains?' he asked, drawing a puzzled look from those eyes, as sharp as ice.

'Of Gilman's fastness' she replied, as if unsure of his meaning. 'I'm a slave here…'

'A slave?' He had gathered as much from her dress and task but it made no sense for a bard to be a slave here.

Before he could enquire further, he heard more steps approaching the shed and froze, hoping that his charm still held. A large man peered through the door and, seeing Maerad standing and the cow that she was meant to be milking standing untended preceded to shout at her until she scrambled to get the stool back into place and continue milking. All the time the man shouted at her, she kept stealing glances at Cadvan, looking between the two men with puzzlement. This more than anything else made it clear to Cadvan that she had no knowledge of barding for she clearly couldn't understand how the large man couldn't see him.

Before long the large man left with a few snide remarks, but although the young woman's rigid stance relaxed, she didn't look back at Cadvan. He Continued to watch her, entranced and fascinated in equal measure until frustration won out.

'Maerad' he said quietly, trying not to startle her. 'I wish you no harm. I am tired and I need sleep. That's why I'm here.' With this admission he again felt the full force of his fatigue and slumped against the nearest wall, unable to hold himself up any longer.

'He didn't see you' she said, still not looking up at him.

'No, it is a small thing, a mere glimmerspell. What is interesting is that you saw me' he muttered, thinking out loud. She quickly glanced upwards and met his calculating gaze. He tried to catch some hint of the truth from her gaze but she turned her head from the challenge of his gaze and he looked away. 'I wish I were not so tired' he cursed, wishing away the fog that clouded his brain and made it impossible to solve this puzzle. 'You were not always a slave?' he asked, seeing this as the only answer.

'My mother wasn't a slave' she answered. Wishing for speed, Cadvan pushed with his gift, willing the truth from her and she obliged although her speech was heavy and reluctant. 'Gilman bought her and kept her here, when I was very little. I think he wanted to ransom her, but none came to ransom.' She paused, as if she was done and Cadvan pushed a little bit harder. 'And then she died.'

As the words passed her lips, Maerads head shot up and she fixed Cadvan with a challenging stare. 'What business is it of yours?' she spat. 'Who are you to ask me?'

Cadvan was used to this reaction to his persuasive truth-getting and carried on, only letting the force of his power dim a little. 'What was your mother's name?' he asked gently.

'Milana' she whispered 'Milana of Pellinor, Singer of the Gift, Daughter of the First Circle. My father…' He gasped at her words as she realised what she's just said, covering her mouth with a muffled 'Oh!'

'Oh indeed' he said, his mind spinning. Milana? Of Pellinor? He knew of her certainly but she was killed years ago. She burnt with that beautiful city.

'I mean, my mother was called Milana, that's all I remember…' the girl said, wide eye's and puzzled. 'She, she died when I was seven years old…I don't know anything about…about the rest. Did you make me say that?' He pitied her confusion but did not regret looking so deep, this was surprising news indeed.

'Make? No, I can't _make_ you say anything. I asked, and the doors of your mind flew open. There is more in that treasury than most people realise.' Definitely in this treasury, he thought to himself. 'The School of Pellinor. That was sacked, oh, years ago. It was thought all were killed.' He was struck by what this discovery might mean and paused in contemplation. A living daughter of that school. The only one. It was far beyond the hope of any but this troubled him, it seemed almost too good to be true. He looked at her but still could not see in her any trace of the dark, so sense of trickery.

'By what right do you come in here and say… and say such things… I could call the Thane's men…' This brave but halting speech pulled him from his thoughts but he could not see a clear path to proceed. Dare he risk harbouring the dark in his very camp? But at the same time, could he risk leaving this vulnerable girl, of Pellinor no less, to the hands of those like the men he had seen outside?

'You can't stay here, if you are of Pellinor' he said at last, making up his mind. He would have to take her with him but not this minute. He could feel darkness creeping over him as he struggled to stay alert and not slip into unconsciousness. 'Could you - perhaps – spare some milk?' he asked, desperate. She handed him the bucket and he drank deep, savouring in the warm creamy liquid that quenched his parched throat and enjoying the feeling of a little strength and lucidity returning to him. 'A blessing on you, and on your house' he said instinctively, setting the bucket down and smiling in thanks.

Now he could think again, and started to plan what on earth to do with this girl. 'Will you have to come to the byre again?' he asked. 'Today I mean.'

She looked at him curiously but at last said 'Yes, I am stationed here today, I'll be milking again in the evening. Why?'

He could feel sleep coming over him and did not answer, saying only 'Good. I'll sleep now. We'll talk later, yes, when I am less tired.'

With that he sank down onto the straw, and Cadvan of Lirigon, who slept with a sword beneath his bed, fell into peaceful sleep before the young woman who in so short a time had earnd his trust.


End file.
